Trip the Darkness
by DreamHarp
Summary: What if instead of Irene calling Moriarty at the start of Belgravia it was Mycroft? A protective Mycroft missing one vital piece of information results in adversity for someone who should not have been there. A study in the gap between the Pool and the duo's next case.
1. Chapter 1

What if instead of Irene calling Moriarty at the start of Belgravia it was Mycroft? A protective Mycroft missing one vital piece of information. A study in the gap between the Pool and the dynamic duo's next case.  
I have no beta so please do ignore typos and such, but if you tell me I will fix.  
Inspired by a mix of many stories and I've several ideas where to go from here, so reviews and advice appreciated.

..."You'll be hearing from me Sherlock." Moriarty's parting comment lanced. Then he turned dismissively towards away, all focus going to his phone. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich.  
If you don't, I will make you into shoes." Voice dropping ominously, Moriarty casually snapped his fingers while exiting.

Immediately the sniper sights disappeared from both Sherlock and John. Slight scuffling noises could be heard but in a matter of seconds silence once again reigned. John blinked twice, then managed to mumble a "Who-what?" That somehow became one syllable instead of two.

Sherlock, for once, didn't comment, thinking hard with his eyes narrowed. "Someone bargained...someone connected...Mycroft!" Shouting the last word, sending a startled John back into the wall, Sherlock pivoted and stormed out, the door thundering against the wall.

John took a deep breath to pull himself mentally together, knowing in a minute he would have to police the two oldest children he had ever met. Straightening, he turned toward the door Sherlock had just vacated, which presumably held the exit.

Two steps and John felt a familiar sensation in his right shoulder. Like the sting of an insect, the bite of the dart was noticeable even through the jumper clinging valiantly to his skin. Two strides more and John fell to one knee, starting to breathe heavily as the sedative coursed through his body for the second time that night. As his head hit the chlorine-soaked tile he couldn't help but wonder when he would finally get a cup of tea.

***

While John tried to collect himself, Sherlock threw himself out the doors and started verbally assaulting the smiling Mycroft who awaited him.

"I did what I felt I had to Sherlock," Mycroft spoke assuredly. "Mummy would be most displeased if I left you in danger."

"What you fail to realize as usual, Mycroft," Sherlock bristled "is that it was all under control. John and I had it completely..."he trailed off as Mycroft raised a hand.

"Dr. Watson is not with his lady friend?"

"If you'd use your eyes you'd know that already!" Sherlock half turned "John is right...John?"

Completing his turn, Sherlock stared with disbelief as his legs involuntarily carried him towards the school door. He managed three ground-covering strides to reach the entrance. However, as his hand grasped the cold metal handle his world rocked sideways as the interior exploded, the fireball caressing the door in counterpoint to his involuntary cry of horror.

In the ensuing commotion, no one noticed the two black sedans exiting without turning on their headlights as they disappeared into the night.


	2. Seconds, Minutes, and Hours Spill Over

John could barely keep his eyes open as two of Moriarty's minions loaded his unresponsive body into the boot of the expensive black sedan. He could just make out two blurry faces, as the lid closed, leaving him in pitch darkness.  
As his body wouldn't respond to his urges to move, John attempted to rest, only to be bounced around with what seemed like extra malice from the road. After what seemed like forever, John felt the car stopping. A shift in the weight indicated that one of the minions had exited. A few minutes later John was greeted by the sight of Minion #2 opening the boot lid with a smirk on his face and plastic ties in his hand. After such a long day, John did what his first instinct told him to do, and swung his fist wildly, attempting to bash the smirk off Minion #2's face. Both John and the minion seemed surprised when his arm responded and connected to the man's cheek bone, resulting in the minion's head snapping back more in surprise than with the strength of the punch.  
After half a moment of disbelief the reaction of the minion was just as John expected, with an explosive force he returned the punch tenfold, leaving John this time in true darkness.

Sherlock growled at the bomb squad's minion that kept trying to foist a blanket on him again as he paced in front of the burning wreckage. Several of the crime scene technicians kept glancing his way with a combination of sympathy and fear, which would normally give him a slight sense of amusement. However, in this moment all he felt was anger. Anger at Moriarty, yes, for taking his John, but more for himself at his carelessness with his friend.

Sherlock was startled out of his self-recrimination with the chirp of the pink phone that he had forgotten was in his pocket. Fishing it out with trembling hands, he looked down to see a picture of John in the boot of a sedan. His mind automatically ticked off the deductions about the make and model of the car before moving on to his friend's condition. Slight swelling already evident on the left side of the face; he had been hit by someone right handed. His hands and feet were tied with the plastic ties easily available at any hardware store, but more secure than leaving him unrestrained. The ties were tight enough to cause discoloration though, indicating the abducting minions did not care about John's condition when he arrived where they were going. There was nothing else in the photo to indicate place or destination. Altogether, it did not look good to be John Watson right now, and it made Sherlock's blood run cold.

Contrary to popular fiction, John didn't awaken immediately. Faintly he registered jostling, then something soft underneath his aching head and body. Everything felt heavy, as if someone had injected his limbs with lead while he was unconscious. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking at the unexpected light on the other side. His body registered unexpected softness on his back and legs. Slowly he moved his arms and legs, relieved to find them unbound. He swung his legs over to the side of what he now saw was a bed and looked around. He wished he had Sherlock's ability to deduce the room, but there wasn't much there to deduce. He sat on a plain bed, with white sheets but nothing else. A wood coffee table sat at the bars making up the foot of the bed. The room had one vent, and no windows. Two doors sat on opposite sides of the room. Rising, John tried the nearest, which was locked as expected. The other opened to a small bathroom, with small towels, not big enough to use for leverage, but large enough to dry himself if he used the miniscule shower.

John splashed water on his face, starting to feel more human, when he heard the door open. His military training took over and he performed a smart about-face, only to see Minion #2 laying a paper plate with food on the coffee table. Without a glance in his direction Minion #2 left. As John crossed the room to look at the pitiful sandwich and crisps, he felt the silence of the room pressing down on him.

He only wished Sherlock would find him before he found out why Moriarty had taken him.


End file.
